Sin answers before I can, his tone easy, casual. “For the prison reform initiative. We always contribute, especially seeing as our former president is still inside. We like to ensure he is taken care of.”
It’s plausible. Reasonable. The kind of thing concerned brothers might do.
Marley’s eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t push. She’s smart enough to know when not to ask questions. Smart enough to understand that some things are better left unsaid.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, swinging my leg over my Harley. “We’ve got celebrating to do.”
Marley climbs on behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist, her body molding to mine like she was made to fit there.
The ride back to the clubhouse is loud and fearless, a pack of motorcycles cutting through traffic with the confidence of men who just watched justice served.
***
By the time night falls, the clubhouse is alive with music, laughter, and the kind of reckless joy that comes from surviving something that should have broken you.
Beer flows. Ro is blasting classic rock from the speakers. Millie has set up an entire buffet of food she spent the afternoon preparing, ribs, mac and cheese, and cornbread that melts in your mouth. Bear is telling some story that has Koa doubled over laughing, and Ghost is showing Will something on his laptop, probably hacking tips the kid absolutely should not be learning, but will anyway.
Marley is tucked against my side on one of the sofas, her head resting on my shoulder, her hand playing with the ends of myhair. She’s relaxed in a way I haven’t seen her in weeks, as if she can finally breathe.
Victoria and Sin are at the bar, his arm around her waist, her fingers tracing patterns on his cut. They’re talking quietly, smiling, and I catch Victoria’s eyes on us, on Marley and me, and she winks.
“You wanna go visit Queenie in the hospital a little later?” I whisper against her ear.
She grins up at me. “Absolutely—”
“Hey, turn that up,” Ro suddenly shouts, pointing at the television mounted above the bar.
Ghost grabs the remote and cranks the volume. The chatter dies down as everyone turns to look at the screen.
A news reporter stands outside the county jail, her expression grave, professional. “Breaking news tonight,” she says, her voice cutting through the clubhouse. “Derek Fletcher, the man arrested last week for arson, murder, and the framing of billionaire mogul, Damon Blackwell, was found dead in his cell this afternoon. Authorities are ruling it a suicide.”
The room goes still.
Completely, utterly still.
I feel Marley’s entire body go rigid against mine. Her head snaps up, her eyes wide, searching my face. Then she looks at Sin, who’s staring at the television with the blank expression of a man who’s very, very good at not showing his hand.
The reporter continues, “Fletcher was discovered by guards during a routine check. He had reportedly been despondent since his arrest, and preliminary findings suggest he took his own life. An investigation is ongoing.”
Marley turns back to me, and I see it in her eyes, the understanding—the realization of what that envelope meant.
What Sin and I arranged.
She doesn’t ask.
She doesn’t accuse.
Instead, she leans into me, pressing her face against my chest, and whispers, “Good riddance.”
Those two words carry everything. Relief, vindication, and the cold satisfaction of knowing Derek Fletcher will never hurt anyone ever again.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah, Small Town,” I murmur against her hair. “Good riddance.”
Across the room, Sin catches my eye. His expression hasn’t changed, but there’s something in the way he looks at Marley that shows approval, respect, and that speaks volumes. He raises his beer in a silent toast, and I nod back.
Marley shifts in my arms, tilting her head up to look at me. Her eyes are dry, clear, and there’s a strength in them that makes my chest ache with pride. “I love you,” she says, the words simple, honest, and so fucking perfect I can barely breathe.
“I love you too,” I reply, cupping her face in my hands. “You’re going to make one hell of an Old Lady, you know that?”
